Rooskaya
by Sub-Zero MKA
Summary: When former SHIELD agent Natasha Romanoff is called in by Director Coulson to help them solve the murder of a high profile politician, she's plunged back into the dark of international espionage and encounters someone she never thought she would see again. Rated T for language and themes. May be bumped up to M later. All characters are owned by Marvel/Disney
1. Arrival

_**A/N:** Been a while since I've written an AOS story. This is a request by **Darkmystery1,** to whom I apologize profusely for the many, many delays. You already know why, but still, sorry it's taken so long to get out. But, here it is, and I hope you and everyone else reading enjoy._

* * *

 _ **Rooskaya**_

 _ **Arrival**_

It had been nearly a year since the battle with Ultron in Sokovia ended. The Avengers were victorious, but it hardly felt like a win. Pietro, Wanda's twin brother, had been killed saving Clint and a little boy's life. The entire country was in ruin – even more so than it already had been, thanks to the protests and poverty that had gripped the land for so long. Bruce, feeling overwhelmed by the guilt that had accumulated over the last decade of Hulk rampages, disappeared without a trace inside a quinjet. The only clue to his whereabouts was that the jet had crashed hours later in the ocean.

The Avengers team was radically different. Gone were Thor, Hulk, Hawkeye and Iron Man. In their places were Scarlet Witch, Vision, Falcon and War Machine. It was good to have another woman and a more diverse roster of heroes. It was 2016, after all.

Captain America made Black Widow his second in command. She felt more honored than she let on. It said a lot that _the_ preeminent American hero wanted a former soviet spy and assassin to lead shoulder to shoulder with him. Even if she felt she didn't deserve the honor, she was determined to do her best.

Together, they whipped the new recruits into shape, making them worthy heirs to the Avengers name. In a lot of ways, they were better than they were before. Vision was just as powerful as Thor, if not slightly less versatile than Mjolnir, and Wanda's magic added an entirely different element to their battle strategy.

However, no matter how successful this new team of Avengers was, it could never replace the original roster in her heart. She would never enunciate it out loud, even if she was tortured for days on end, but that team of unstable heroes had become a family to her. They were her rock, no matter how much they aggravated her. Even Tony had become a close friend for her.

And then there was Bruce. She wouldn't lie and say that they weren't close. They were; he was the third closest friend she had on the team, behind Clint and Steve. She didn't know if what they had was love or not, but perhaps it was the closest she would ever get to having a genuine lover; a man who loved her, not for her body or because of the deceptive tactics she used to get information out of them, but because of who she was as a person. Not to mention that she and the Hulk had quite the connection; something she did not see coming, given their very first encounter.

When he vanished, she felt a piece of herself vanish with him. She didn't know what it was, but she felt whole with him around. Then, he was gone, and she suddenly felt a void inside her that couldn't be filled by anyone else. Whether it was because she could depend on his forthright honesty or that sheepish demeanor of his, or even his sense of humor, she found that she missed his presence on the team more than Thor or Tony. Not to say that she didn't miss either of them; she just missed Bruce more.

She, of course, kept all of that to herself. The team was all dealing with their own issues, and they didn't need her relatively small problem to bog them down even further. So, she kept it to herself and expended herself as much as possible when they found the time to search for him.

They found the quinjet he had used to run away a few hours after the Battle of Sokovia. It was, of course, empty. Fury said it crashed in the ocean. Something that couldn't come close to killing the Hulk, so she knew he was still out there, somewhere.

They looked everywhere. They asked all of his known associates – Betty Ross, Leonard Sampson, Rick Jones, everyone. No one had seen him or even heard a peep from him.

The days rolled by, eventually turning into weeks, then to months, which ticked by quickly one by one. Not one word from Bruce. She was starting to believe that he was dead. There was no way he wouldn't have found some way to contact them, to, at the very least, tell them to stop looking for him. No such call ever came.

Even Friday couldn't find him using satellite imaging and tapping into various security cameras around the world. The last time he was hiding out, SHIELD was more than capable of keeping tabs on him. But even they had no luck. It was as if he had dropped off the face of the planet.

Natasha was at her wit's end. She had pulled every available string, followed every possible lead and gone on every wild goose chase that had presented itself. Still, nothing. It was like he was gone for good.

But still, Natasha persisted. She wasn't going to give up until she found out, one way or the other, Bruce's whereabouts and his condition. To that end, she was both dreading and awaiting the fateful phone call she was sure to receive.

So far, both thankfully and regrettably, the only phone calls she received were from her teammates. The only SHIELD call she got was from Coulson asking her if she could assist them with an operation. Since she was sure she owed him some favor from years ago, and since it was an excuse to see the man everyone but the Avengers knew was alive, she obliged.

It was no trouble to get a week off from the Avengers, and she was on a quinjet headed for a set of coordinates given to her in a doubly encrypted message that self-destructed fifteen seconds after she opened it.

"Has SHIELD always been this secretive?" she asked him as soon as she stepped foot inside the base. It wasn't nearly as glamorous as the helicarrier, but then, after Hydra, she had had her fill of helicarriers to last a lifetime.

Coulson smiled wryly. "Sorry. You just never know who's a Skrull nowadays."

"A what?"

"Sorry, just a joke. A bad one."

She noted that he was lying, but decided to keep that to herself. "Don't worry about it. Where's my bunk?"

He cocked his head so she would follow him.

As they walked, she briefly glanced at her surroundings. Instinctively, she noted all possible escape routes and located the weapons cache. She also noted that she barely recognized anyone on the team. There was Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, all of whom she knew from the old days. Also, she was certain that May was stalking around somewhere, waiting to put her fist through someone's skull. But those were the only ones. Everyone else might as well have been a stranger. Even the ones she knew were different. Everyone seemed… she didn't know. Jaded didn't seem to be the right word, but it was the closest thing she could think of.

Granted, old SHIELD wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine, either.

Coulson noticed her looking around and smiled softly. "It isn't much, but it gets the job done."

"I've worked with less. This will do just fine. If not, then you can just dust off that old helicarrier you found."

He smirked. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Thanks. We managed to save a lot of people that day because of it." 'All but one' died on her tongue just before it was spoken.

It appeared that he perceived that she held it back, given his pensive frown. "I assume Ms. Maximoff is holding up well?"

"As well as someone can after losing her only family," she replied with a sigh. "It was a no-win situation." It was either him or Clint and that kid. Pietro made the only decision a good man could make. It was just one that cost him everything.

"Yeah." It was left at that.

The hallway they were walked down gave way to a row of doors that obviously contained the bunks. He continued walking until he stopped at an empty one. "Home sweet home, Romanoff. We can discuss how you'll be paying your rent later."

"Just put it on my tab."

His wry smile returned. "Duly noted. Briefing is in twenty minutes, so get yourself situated by then."

She nodded and stepped inside. The bunk was barren, consisting of a bed, dresser, and a closet. She supposed SHIELD, with most of its assets still frozen, would be unable to afford anything more than the necessities. Then again, it never splurged on anything beyond the necessities for its agents.

It felt odd being back at SHIELD. It had only been two years since it fell, but that seemed like an eternity given how different her former compatriots were. She felt like a stranger in her old neighborhood. Everyone had moved on without her. New members were added, new relationships were forged, new connections were discovered. It was an awkward position to be in, for sure. But, luckily, it was one that she only had to endure for a week, two weeks at most.

Natasha didn't bother to unpack, but did place her handgun on top of the bedside table, along with both knives she kept on her person. She kept her Widow's Bite bracelets and the combat knife in her boot before turning to leave.

Fitz and Simmons were standing in her doorway, wearing matching smiles. "Welcome back, Agent Romanoff," the latter said amicably. The former bobbed his head in agreement.

She couldn't help but smile. Despite everything, they still had a little of their earnestness. "Thanks, FitzSimmons. I'm not technically back home, just visiting."

"At any rate, it's good to see you again, Agen—ah, Natasha." They took their leave with a final nod, leaving Natasha stunned.

She had been expecting them to remain there for a few more seconds, trying not to stare at her before awkwardly taking their leave. They had grown up quite a bit since the last time she saw them. She supposed given all that they've been through the last two years – especially Fitz – that was inevitable. It was still jarring to see in person. SHIELD, her home, had changed. She had changed, also. It was like two old friends who had lost touch for years suddenly reuniting and trying to continue their friendship. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't.

They were all professionals; they could make this work.

With that in mind, she left her bunk to head to briefing.


	2. Briefing and Investigation

_**Briefing and Investigation**_

Coulson began the briefing promptly twenty minutes after Natasha arrived, exactly as he said. He was nothing if not punctual. The black holographic folder, about the size of a sheet of paper, displayed all the pertinent information.

Ivan Kukal, top aide to the Czech Prime Minister, was found slain in his bedroom early Sunday morning. He was found by his wife, who had been gone that Friday and Saturday to visit family in Brno, found his body when she returned. According to the pictures included in the files, the kill was clean. Single gunshot to the head. No murder weapon was found, nor were any bullets or shell casings.

"Professional," remarked Agent Antoine Triplett, one of Coulson's most highly regarded agents.

Natasha nodded her head in agreement.

The man was found in an extreme case of undress, only in his boxer briefs. The covers weren't pulled back, meaning his was lying on top of them when he was murdered. There was no sign of forced entry, and there was one glass of vodka found in the living room. There was a bottle also, half-full. Only his fingerprints were found on the glass and bottle.

Natasha scanned the photographs with the eye of a trained killer. Everything, from the coerced entry, to the lack of fingerprints, to the clean murder, screamed that this was done by a professional. Question was, who would want an aide dead?

"Any prints, hairs, anything we can scan for DNA?" Bobbi asked.

"None," Coulson answered. "Well, none that were real. They found some synthetic red hairs on the bed. From a wig, so those do us no good."

"This was committed by a woman," Natasha stated.

"Think so?"

She nodded. "The wig is a dead giveaway. His state of undress is another. I'm thinking the assassin posed as an escort to get him to let his guard down." She scanned through the files to see if there was anything else, such as anything stolen. "Doesn't say if anything was stolen from his home."

"Government stonewalled us. You'll have to find that out once you get there." Coulson stood from the briefing table and walked over to a blank screen. He tapped it once with his index finger, then started typing on it. She couldn't see what he was writing, but given his concentrated expression, it was important. "Romanoff, I want you and three other agents to head to the Czech Republic to investigate this further. I've asked the local PD to keep the crime scene intact until you arrive. Take Bobbi, Trip and Mack with you."

She eyed his three agents and nodded. "When do we leave?"

"Right now."

* * *

 **Prague, Czech Republic**

Bobbi Morse, Natasha knew. Sci-Tech grad, doctorate in bio-chemistry. One of the few lab rats to transition successfully to field ops. They had teamed together on a few assignments back in the day. She was good.

Antoine Triplett, she had heard good things about. Sharp, quick on his feet and good with bringing the old school Howling Commandos tech. Plus, he had a nice sense of humor.

Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie was the only one she didn't know much about. According to Coulson, he was a SHIELD mechanic that was brought in to help Fitz when he was dealing with the side effects of his oxygen deprivation. He eventually shifted to field ops, where he had become an invaluable asset.

She could see why Coulson chose those three to go with her.

"Anybody speak Czech?" Mack asked. "Because I sure as hell don't."

Trip and Bobbi both shook their heads.

"And you three call yourselves spies." Natasha had to learn many languages during her time in the Red Room. Luckily, a few Czech phrases were on the learning docket.

"I'm a mechanic, not a spy," Mack protested.

"I know you keep saying that," Bobbi teased.

An official looking man in a sharp black suit approached them. _"Are you from the government?"*_ he asked in Czech.

(A/N: Translated from Czech.)

" _Yes. Is the crime scene still intact?"_ Natasha answered.

He nodded and gestured for them to follow him. He flashed his identification card to another official that was guarding the entrance to the slain aide's home, then indicated that the agents were with him. _"As soon as your supervisor called to inform us that you were on your way, we tried to maintain the integrity of the crime scene. I hope you can keep this as quiet as possible. Government officials being murdered in their own homes hardly lends to a calm public."_

" _Understood."_

Kukal's home was furnished very much like a government employee's home would be. Expensive looking furniture, beautiful paintings, gold inlays across the ceiling and silver inlays on walls sprawling throughout the home. The main focal point was obviously the expansive fountain set in the center of the foyer just in front of the double-sided staircase leading upstairs.

"Damn," Triplett marveled. "How much did this guy make again?"

"According to his records, a little north of 1.3 million Koruna. Which is only $55,000 a year," Bobbi answered. "So, either this guy had one hell of a piggy bank, or –"

"He was into some real shady shit on the side," Mack finished.

The picture was still too foggy to make out, but it was starting to clear up some. If Kukal was into some shady business, as Mack alluded to, then he more than likely got in over his head. Perhaps saw something or knew something that he shouldn't have. That made him a liability. Hence someone hiring a professional assassin to take him out.

Natasha hadn't been in the shadowy depths of this kind of place in quite some time, but she remembered clearly how deadly and unforgiving any Eastern European underground could be. Russian mafias stole the bulk of the western world's attention, but the mafias in other countries – like Czech – were just as deadly. If not deadlier, as they could operate with almost complete anonymity and impunity, thanks to the aforementioned Russians.

The official led them to the bedroom, which was boarded off with caution tape. As he removed it and unlocked the door, he said, _"We will stay out of your way now, but please, inform us of anything you may find. All of our resources are at your disposal."_

" _Thank you. We will."_

When he left down the stairs, they got right to work. "Alright, so what are we looking for?"

"Anything the police may have missed," Natasha answered Mack. "Blood drops, fingerprints, hair, anything at all. Coulson wants this person found as soon as possible."

There was a slim chance of them finding something to police missed, she knew. A government official being murdered meant the investigators were going to do their utmost to find every shred of evidence, if only to look good in case government investigators conducted their own search. As was the case now.

Of course, SHIELD tech was of a much higher caliber – even in its dilapidated state – than anything any one country had at its disposal.

The agents worked in silence. There was no stone left unturned, no nook or cranny left unsearched and every inch of every wall was sensually caressed in case there was a secret switch or false panel. And yet, nothing. They couldn't find anything that the police or anyone else may have overlooked.

They had been at it for twenty minutes, yet couldn't find anything. Even when Triplett pulled out an x-ray scanner to scan the walls and floor, nothing came up.

"Clean as a whistle," he said, the unmistakable hint of disappointment coloring his tone. "If he was dealing with shady shit, he was good at hiding it."

"At least here, anyway." Bobbi dropped her goggles on the bedframe, which had been stripped clean of its sheets and mattresses. "More than likely, he has some kind of storage unit or something like that."

"Only problem is how are we going to find it if he does?" Mack asked. "It's not like he left directions."

Natasha glanced from his to Triplett, who was leaning against the far wall. His brow was creased, as if thinking hard about what to try next.

Just when she was about to ask what he thought, he suddenly shot from the wall to the light switch by the door. He quickly removed the screws with a screwdriver, then carefully removed the panel.

Natasha glanced over his shoulder and saw it when he did. A gold coin jammed into the crevice by the light switch. On one side was a fox, and the other side were three crucifixes.

"It's always the last place you think to look," he said with a grin. "I'll scan this and send it to Fitz. Maybe he can see where it came from."

"Good job, Triplett." Her back turned to him, so she didn't see his grin brighten just a touch.

They had a hunch, which was better than nothing. If it panned out and they ended up with something concrete to work on, then the day wouldn't have been a complete waste.


	3. Interrogation

_**A/N:** Terribly sorry for the long wait. Life just got really busy. But, here's the next chapter._

* * *

 _ **Interrogation**_

 **Prague, Czech Republic**

The coin in question wasn't so much currency as it was a business card of sorts; a trinket given to initiated members of the Thule Society. According to what little SHIELD had on file, Thule Society wasn't an run-of-the-mill den of mobsters. They had been implicated or suspected in at least fifteen terrorist attacks across Europe in the last ten years.

How a simple government aide got caught up in such a notorious group was beyond any of the agents. Hence, that was their next step – find out how Ivan Kukal became involved, and just how deeply his involvement ran. If they could figure that out, then finding out who killed him and why would become a little bit clearer.

After reporting their findings to the local authorities, as was the agreement, Natasha and the others underwent the next phase of their investigation. Naturally, this led them to confiscating his laptop and scouring the harddrive for any secret files, folders, or emails that could point them in the right direction.

After twenty minutes of careful scanning, they picked something up. "Looks like it's a hidden folder," Bobbi noted. She opened it up.

Three word documents and several image folders were contained inside. The image folders were mainly pornographic in nature. Other than his... peculiar fetishes, there was nothing of note in them. The word documents however, yielded much fruit.

The first one contained dozens of hyperlinks that directed them to secret emails. They were conversations back and forth between Kukal and an unknown second party, which they naturally assumed was associated with the Thule Society, given the verbiage within. "Hm. Looks like our guy was covering tracks," Mack said. One of the emails said that the initial sender needed someone to get the federal agencies off his back after his associates and he blew up a bank in Bmo. Another one said that the initial sender needed funds from the national treasury to help cover an operation in Kiev, Ukraine.

They were all of the same nature. Kukal was using his status within the government to help the Thule Society get away with their terrorist acts. The oldest one was dated seven years ago.

"Damn," Mack said with a shake of his head. "This guy was in deep."

"Typical government corruption," Natasha said. "Nothing surprising about this." She clicked on the very last hyperlink, which led to the most recent chain of emails. Unlike the others, however, this chain was much more argumentative. The sender wanted Kukal to help him/her in assassinating a top government official. Kukal refused, stating that he would surely have been found out and executed.

The very last email was ominous, and bone-chilling. _'If you are afraid of dying, we will help you face your fears.'_

Natasha frowned heavily. "Whoever sent this email had something to do with Kukal's death." That much was obvious.

"Any way to trace the email back to the sender?" Mack asked.

"Don't think so. They were all deleted, but backed up on a remote server." Triplett hummed to himself quietly as an idea popped in his head. He removed a silver flash drive from his pack and inserted it into laptop.

The sender, the one who sent the ominous threat in the last email, was communicating under an encrypted email address. If they could decrpyt, that would lead them in the right direction. The encryption finished, giving them a name. "Boseslav Zacpal. Sound familiar to anyone?"

"Nope," Natasha answered Bobbi. "Let's get to know him better."

* * *

 **Olomouc, Czech Republic**

 **10:58 PM Central European Time**

It wasn't hard to find Mr. Zacpal. According to his criminal record, Zacpal was usually seen in Olomouc, so they went there next. He was the prototypical rough-and-tumble mobster type. Meaning he enjoyed hanging out in the seedier bars in town. There was only one.

Natasha and Bobbi went inside the shabby hole-in-the-wall, leaving Mack and Triplett inside the discreet van they were using as their mobile base.

Two beautiful women, one of which was obviously a tourist, attracted the attention of every male with a heartbeat. Including their mark.

The two female agents took a seat at the bar. Natasha, ever the seductress, changed her undergarments into something more promiscuous, and made sure her jeans were low enough to flash the edge.

It worked like a charm. The man they knew to be Boseslave Zacpal stalked up to them like a wolf in pursuit of a pair of injured lambs. He smiled wolfishly at the both of them, eyeing Bobbi, then Natasha. His eyes lingered on both of them for an equal length, so they couldn't determine if he had a preference one way or the other.

Not that it mattered.

" _Hello, ladies. May I buy you both a drink?"_

"I don't speak your language," Bobbi said with a sultry expression. As she suspected, he didn't change his expression, meaning he couldn't speak english. "He doesn't speak english. How do you want to handle this?"

Natasha smiled lustily. _"Yes, you may. Whatever you want. We like_ _everything._ _"_ She turned to Bobbi. "Let's get him to take us back to his place. Shouldn't be too hard. You should have flashed some thong."

"Didn't bring one."

Three glasses of vodka were slid over to them. _"I take it you two are from out of town? It is rare to see two beauties around these parts."_

" _I am from Russia, but moved to Prague after I graduated from university. This here is my girlfriend from America. I'm showing her around Czech before taking her back to Moscow."_

The moment she mentioned that Bobbi was from the US, Boseslav's grin grew more wider, more perverse. _"Really? Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed two women to travel through this dangerous city by themselves? There are many seedy people around here, and I would hate to see either of you hurt."_

Natasha quickly translated what he said to Bobbi. "This is our opening. Play along." She then turned to Boseslav and smiled gratefully. _"Wow, thank you so much. I feel so much better having someone strong like you watching our backs."_

The two agents quickly downed their glasses. If he was surprised, he managed to not show it. _"Well, looks like someone is eager."_ He drained his in record time, then pulled out a pair of Koruna to pay for the drinks. _"So, how about I show you around neighborhood first?"_

" _Yes, yes. That's sounds just fine."_

He turned smiled, and turned to leave. It was then that Natasha pressed the inside of her ring, which was actually a discreet comm link. "Get ready. Headed your way."

The sky was dark and cloudy. It was well after ten in the evening, and the only light illuminating was from the few dimly lit street lamps lining the street. There weren't too many people outside. In that type of time, it wasn't safe to be outside at night. Natasha knew that, but had to pretend that she didn't. Even though she had played the oblivious female role before, it never ceased to irritate her. Anything for the mission usually meant having to sacrifice her dignity.

Although, the look on her mark's face when she revealed her true self was always worth it. This, she felt, wasn't going to be any different.

The three walked out of the bar and onto the street. _"First, I have to make a stop at my home. I left my cellphone."_

" _No problem."_

He led the two down the street and down a dark alleyway that he claimed was a shortcut. Natasha knew better. Under her leather jacket, she had her Widow's Bite bracelets and a pair of handguns, plus a pair of combat knives in her boots. For her part, Bobbie had her battle staves hidden under her longer suade coat, and a handgun on her hip. If something went down, they weren't going to be caught unprepared.

The further they got into the alleyway, the darker it go. To the point that they could barely make out Boseslav in front of them. Years of blacks ops told her that they were walking into a trap.

Sure enough, six men stepped into the alleyway seemingly out of nowhere. They were wielding AK-47s and CZ-804 BRENs. "You two have taken me for fools. I know government agents when I see them," Boseslav stated.

There were three in front of them, not including Boseslave, and three behind them. They were outgunned and outnumbered.

Certainly not a situation they hadn't be in before, but not in this close quarters. "You're a lot smarter than you look," Bobbi noted.

"You don't escape prison without savvy. Take them." Two men from behind them stepped up to grab hold of them.

A mistake. Bobbi smoothly snatched off her clip-on earring and tossed it to the ground. The ensuing flash bang blinded the men.

Natasha quickly electrocuted two men behind them, then shot the third in the head. She grabbed Boseslav while Bobbi shot the three men in front of them.

"You're smarter than you look, but not smart enough. Let's go, playboy."

"American dogs! Your heads will be posted on stakes in front of your paymasters!" Boseslav was tied to a chair, stripped of his clothes and his weapons. They noticed that he had dozens of tattoos inked all over his body.

The most prominent one was the eight headed snake that was across his back.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Mack pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him. "Let me tell you what's about to happen. You're going to answer our questions, then you're going to jail."

Boseslav laughed uproariously. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because if you don't," Triplett answered with a sly smirk playing on his lips, "we'll let you go and let it slip that you told us everything about Thule Society. I wonder how long snitches last in the Czech underground."

Boseslav's face dropped like a brick in a pool of water. Apparently, those with loose lips didn't last very long at all.

"Thought so. As far as you're concerned, the safest place for you is with us. So, start talking or start updating your will. Your choice."

He swallowed nervously. "What do you want to know?"

"Ivan Kukal. What was his role in Thule Society?"

"He was our inside man within the government. If we need the authorities off our backs, or need information on a person, he was the man we went to."

That much they knew just from the emails. For seven years, Kukal was in this group's back pocket and did what they asked of him. The one time he didn't, he was killed. "Kukal was killed yesterday. By who?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I never saw her face. All I know is that she is an assassin from Russia."

An assassin from Russia, who seduced her target into dropping his guard, then killed him with expert professionalism.

A cold chill ran down Natasha's spine. "Thank you." She got up and stepped out of the room.

It was all so familiar. It was as if she herself had committed the murder. She knew exactly how the last night of Kukal's life went, and it went exactly how she would have done it.

Which meant only one thing. She didn't know for sure, but she was almost positive. A Black Widow was responsible.

She thought they were all dead, killed off by KGB operatives after the Soviet Union fell. The only reason she survived was because she was the best, and was so adept at staying in the wind until she wanted to be found. The others were dead because they weren't as good as she was.

"Hey, everything cool?" Triplett asked as he stepped out of the makeshift interrogation room.

Natasha sighed and turned to face him. "Yeah. Just needed to step out and think."

"Think he's telling the truth?"

"I know he is. There aren't too many female assassin's left in Russia. At least not any that could pull off a job like this and not leave any evidence behind." She was certain the synthetic hairs were left on purpose. Them being red, and close to an exact match to her hair color, was a dead giveaway. Whoever this killer was was mocking her, daring her to trying and catch them.

Triplett eyed her closely, as if trying to probe her walls and peer into her mind. He didn't get passed the first layer. "Got any hunches?"

She debated telling him about the Black Widows. "No." She decided against it. Not until she was absolutely sure.

If he could tell that she was lying – he couldn't – he wasn't saying anything. "I better call Coulson and have him send someone to pick this guy up. He won't last long out there now that he's spilled."

"He say anything else?"

"Nah. Typical anti-American bullshit. He's not about nothing"

She breathed out a soft chuckle. "Well, he'll be thanking us tomorrow."

A comfortable silence passed between the two of them for a few minutes. It looked like Triplett wanted to say something, but kept deciding against it. "Is it true what they say? That you used to kill for a living back then?"

Her headed tilted back some as she regarded him passively. Her past wasn't common knowledge when she was at SHIELD. Once she and Fury dumped all of SHIELD's data on the internet for the entire world to see, her past became public knowledge. Or, at least it was until Tony had Jarvis delete it all. Even still, there were some who didn't believe it. The old adage of not believing everything one reads on the internet saved her skin.

"What do you think?" she asked in reply.

A small grin touched his lips. "I... think you did."

She smiled, but it was hollow. "It's not something I'm proud of. People like me have a hard time looking in the mirror. I look at myself and I don't like what I see."

Again, he looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "That's too bad."

An odd thing to say. She frowned for a brief moment, then shrugged. "Guilt will do that to you."

Mack and Bobbi stepped out of the interrogation room. "Coulson's got a jet incoming to pick up our stool pigeon," he informed.

"Good."

"Managed to get the names of a few higher ups, so we have some heads to knock on tomorrow. With any luck, we'll get the name of our femme fatale, or at least a location."

If she was right, getting a name and a place to search wasn't going to be enough. "Then, we should get some rest. We have work to do."


	4. Retribution

_**Retribution**_

Far away from the SHIELD agents' makeshift headquarters, the rest of the Thule Society had caught wind that one of theirs had been captured. They also knew that he had been taken in by SHIELD. Everyone recognized Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow. Her exploits in Manhattan, Washington, DC, and Sokovia had made her a legend within the criminal underground. Not only that, but the fact that all of her information was on the internet for all to see only made it more obvious.

There was little doubt that Boseslav Zacpal had already told them everything he knew about Kukal's murder. He was a liability. And liabilities had to be dealt with. Permanently.

She had done well for them before. She killed Kukal without leaving a trace of evidence. It was only because of Kukal's idiocy that SHIELD was able to divine as many leads as they had. She was young, but what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in expertise.

They called her on the burner phone by which she told them to contact her. She stated she was going to remain in the Czech Republic for another week, just in case someone came sniffing around. A good thing.

" _There is little doubt that Boseslav Zacpal has already told the SHIELD agents everything he knows in regards to Kukal's murder. I want you to exterminate that pest before he tells anything else."_

When she spoke in reply, her Czech was fluent, with the hint of a Russian accent. _"That will cost you extra."_

There was no reason to hesitate. _"Very well. Our watchmen saw him being taken to a hotel at this location."_

They gave her the location of the hotel, and then told her to make the assassination public to send a message to not only SHIELD, but also anyone who even thought of giving them any information.

In the Thule Society, leaks were _not_ tolerated.

* * *

 **4:30 AM**

Hours later, when the sun hadn't even peeked up from under the horizon, Agent May and a pair of agents Natasha didn't recognize arrived to take Zacpal into custody. The man seemed fearful and skittish, and started to curse them for not transferring him to a safer place more quickly.

"He's right. He's a dead man," Natasha said bluntly.

May hummed quietly and handed her a bullet-proof vest. "Tell him to put that on. And to keep his head down. We just need to get him into the SUV, then he should be safe."

SHIELD issue vehicles were bullet-proof and bomb-proof. They were as sturdy as a vehicle get. While that should have put Natasha's mind at ease, it didn't. This person they were after was too good. There was no telling what kind of weapons she could have gotten her hands on.

"You think Thule Society is coming after our friend here?" Mack asked. It sounded like he already knew the answer to his question.

She nodded. "Yeah. Most organizations don't like snitches. Much less ones that spill sensitive information, like our friend here just did."

Mack nodded and turned to help Zacpal into his vest.

A lot of good that would have done. If anything, he was going to be shot in the head, if the woman they were after was as good as she thought she was. Then again, she could have been paranoid. There was no reason to believe that there was going to be retribution paid within hours of Zacpal being captured.

Triplett took out what looked like a toy sniper rifle from a large brown suitcase. "I'll climb up onto the roof and make sure no one tries to get the drop on y'all."

When she eyed him curiously, he just smirked and walked out the back door. His confidence reminded her of Clint. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

May grabbed Zacpal and led him toward the front door. Natasha, as was suggested, told him to keep his head down. "See anyone, Trip?" she asked before stepped out the door.

 _=Nope. All clear. Make it fast, May. It's cold as hell up here.=_

May grunted out a laugh and shoved their prisoner out the door. There, the two agents were waiting with assault rifles. One of them nodded and opened the door, while the other one kept watch at the rear of the vehicle.

With Triplett watching from above like a hawk and the agents watching the streets from below, there was very little that was going to get passed them. Then again, there was very little that could rightfully be qualified as a trained killer.

What happened next proved that.

A lone woman on a motorcycle turned the corner twenty-five yards from where the transfer was taking place. Zacpal was only a few feet from the bullet-proof SUV when the rider on the motorcycle hit the throttle and came screaming down the street.

With expert balance, she steered with one hand and raised her left arm. Twin bursts of smoke erupting from the gold bracelet on her wrist heralded a pair of shots. The first dropped the agent keeping watch at the back of the SUV. The second impacted Zacpal's left temple, killing him instantly.

When the prisoner suddenly jerked to the side and collapsed to the ground, everyone jumped into action. Weapons were drawn and cover was taken. May was barking out orders and pointing to the woman on the motorcycle. Triplett fired a shot from his rifle, but it didn't even pierce her jacket. The same with the next two shots bouncing off her tires.

She was around the corner and gone, in the wind in a matter of seconds.

The whole affair lasted ten seconds. Two men dead in a matter of seconds.

Mack cursed and slammed his hands against a wooden table. May was on the phone with Coulson, filling him in on what had just transpired when Triplett entered through the back door, face grim and sullen. He tossed his rifle on the bed and sat down, heaving out a frustrated sigh.

Natasha knew that this was going to happen. She didn't think that it was going to happen quite that way, but it was inevitable. She had been inside when the double murder happened, about to start reviewing the notes Bobbi and Mack recorded during the interrogation earlier with the former.

No one managed to get a good look at the shooter. She was wearing a helmet to conceal her identity, as well as protect herself from return fire.

"Did anyone see _anything?_ " Bobbi asked the assembly.

"It was a woman, that much I know," Triplett answered. "She was here one second, gone the next. Blew both of them away in a heartbeat."

"What kind of gun did she use?" Mack asked. "Assault rifle? Handgun?"

"Whatever it was, it was silenced. Didn't hear any shots until Trip opened fire," Bobbi remarked.

"She didn't have a gun," he answered. "She had a gold wristband or something. Whatever it was, that's what she used."

"She fired bullets from a wristband?" Mack asked with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha's blood ran cold. That confirmed it. They _were_ dealing with a Black Widow.

It shouldn't have been possible. _She_ was the last one; she was sure of it! "It was a bracelet."

Triplett looked at her with raised eyebrows. "How do you know?"

She sighed, but didn't answer. Instead, she merely pulled up the sleeve to her sweater, revealing the black Widow's Bite bracelets she wore with her superhero outfit. They were made for her by SHIELD's tech department. Her original ones were in a safety deposit box somewhere in Moscow. Her original ones were gold, just like the ones Triplett said he saw on the shooter.

She bent her wrist down and fired a single shot at a soda can on the table across the room. The round erupted from her bracelet silently; only a brief puff of smoke and the can suddenly being knocked off the table showed that a shot had been fired.

"So... you're saying we're dealing with someone like you?" Mack asked slowly. "A copycat?"

"She's like me," she answered as she pulled her sleeve down, "but she's no copycat. She's a Black Widow."

The room went silent for a short moment. "Damn. That makes too much sense."

"I thought there weren't any of you guys left," Bobbi said. She pulled out her laptop and, after powering it up, started searching through SHIELD's files on the Red Room.

"That's what I thought. Most of us were killed when the Soviet Union collapsed. SHIELD came down hard on the Red Room, so they killed the Black Widows so we couldn't talk."

"Except you," Triplett noted.

"I was the lucky one." Try as she might, she couldn't conceal some of the sadness that she felt whenever she thought about what happened to her sisters leaked out. She breathed in to push it back down. "I think it's best if you let me handle this alone."

"No way," Mack answered immediately. "I agreed to this assignment, and I plan on seeing it through to the end."

Triplett and Bobbi nodded in agreement.

"That end might come a lot sooner than you expect," she replied honestly.

Black Widows may have varied in experience, but they all were among the deadliest killers in the world. The name struck fear in the criminal underground, because no one took a woman seriously until she was pointing a loaded handgun in a man's face while straddling his bare pelvis. They didn't know who this Widow was or what she looked like. She could have been anyone. And with Hydra's tech being passed around across the globe on the black market, she could look like anyone at any time.

It was too dangerous for the others. She herself knew all the tricks, because she created most of them. She was the best; her handlers said so. Out of all the Widows to come along the line, they never surpassed her marks.

They were going to learn, one way or another. "Fine. But, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Girl, you know you can count on us," Triplett said with a wink.

Natasha caught herself almost smiling, but held back. "Good. As soon as May clears out, we can get started. Our only lead is dead, but he gave us a few names to work with."

"They know that their paymasters know we're onto them, so no one's going to be talking," Mack said.

"I'll make them talk," she responded. "They're going to die anyway. It's only a question of whether they want to die screaming or die quietly."

"Do I even want to know?"

"You know Frank Castle, right? He told me that if you solder a person asshole shut, the bilirubin in their feces leaks into their bloodstream, and they die a horribly painful death." She shrugged. "He's right."

They just stared at her.

"What?"


	5. Superior

_**A/N:** Well, I need to apologize for the ridiculous wait. Life is a bitch. I could barely concentrate on one story, much less all of them. Unfortunately, this chapter is short, but I didn't want to add in any fluff just to make it longer. Sorry again, but hope you enjoy :)_

* * *

 _ **Superior**_

The legend of the Soviet Red Room and its Black Widows was widely known throughout the planet. Feared killers, with nary a witness left breathing. That was their reputation, their calling card. It was why the Thule Society dropped so much cash at the feet of one of the only two remaining Widows in the world. She had in her possession skills that no one else could hope of mastering. Oh, anyone could do what they did. Any woman could put on a revealing dress, where seductive makeup, and charm her way into a man's attention.

It was just no one did it as well as the Widows.

Thule Society knew that SHIELD would be on to them the moment they started to make their move. They couldn't afford for their associate to be anything less than the absolute best. To stay many steps ahead of the global peacekeeping taskforce, they needed nothing but the best.

Two men sat in a mostly empty coffee shop many miles away from the Czech Republic, in the United States. One was bald, with tan skin and a few tattoos running from his neck down his chest and back. The other was tall, with a sculpted jawline and short black hair. "The Russian has done well," the first man said. He spoke with an accent that made it obvious that he was not from the United States.

The second man took a slow sip of his coffee before replying. When he did, he spoke with an accent that made it obvious he _was_ from the United States. "Yes. But, she can do better. I've gotten reports that none of the SHIELD agents were killed last night. I _do not_ want them interfering any longer. Am I clear?"

The first man nodded sharply. "Yes, sir. I'll get in touch with her and tell her to finish what she started. No survivors."

The second man took another sip of his coffee. He breathed in deeply to indulge in the aroma. "Tell me, Salvatore. Do you know what the best thing about coffee is?" When his companion, apparently named Salvatore, didn't reply, he continued. "It's smell. It has one of the most enduring aromas. Nothing better than waking up to the smell of a fresh pot of coffee." He smiled and finished his mug.

Salvatore just looked at him strangely, wondering how a person could transition so smoothly from something like murdering government agents to something as mundane as coffee. Regardless, he shrugged and silently nodded his agreement.

* * *

The call from Salvatore came shortly after his visit with his superior. He started off by making sure the girl knew how pleased they were with her work thus far. The leak, Zacpal, had been plugged permanently, and the SHIELD agents were aware that their time was limited. However, when he began to make painstakingly clear that they were to be eliminated as quickly as possible, she said only one thing in reply. _"Each head is extra."_

He sighed silently, and glanced at his superior. The phone was on speaker, so there was no need to relay her message. The superior nodded. "Fine," Salvatore agreed. "Name your price."

"Fifty thousand for the three SHIELD agents. One million for Natalia."

His heart jumped into his throat. Just when he was about to argue that she was asking for too much for just one woman, his superior jumped in. "Natalia?"

" _Romanova."_

The room fell silent. Everyone knew that she was the best spy on the planet. While few could come close to her expertise, none could match her skill. It was very possible that she would be able to unravel their entire plan by herself. However, that wasn't what worried them. It was knowing that if things got too difficult, she could simply call in the Avengers to back her up.

"I see," the superior enunciated slowly. "Do what you must. The money will be wired into your account _after_ she's dead. Understood?"

His answer came in the form of a dial tone.

The room and its inhabitants remained silent long after the call was ended. It was several minutes before anyone said anything.

"If Romanoff is there, Zacpal told her everything. Proceed accordingly. And contact our Czech members, and remind them of the penalty for leaking information."

Salvatore nodded and prepared to send a mass email to all of the pertinent members of their organization. While the fear of punishment wasn't as prevalent within the organization as it had been just a few years ago, it was still healthy enough to deter leaking information, at least.

As the air filled with the repetitious tapping sound of fingers striking the keys of a laptop keyboard, the leader of the Thule Society fell into thought. _It's been a while, hasn't it, Romanoff?_ He almost hoped she managed to elude his assassin long enough to track him down. He had been wanting to test himself out against her for years. He _was_ the only one to match her marks at SHIELD, after all; at least when it came to espionage. He was willing to bet his hand-to-hand skills weren't that far off.

Still, he couldn't afford for overconfidence or fantasy face-offs to cloud and blind him from his goal.

"Done," Salvatore announced.

"Good. Let's move on."


	6. Perfect Target

_**Perfect Target**_

 _Dear Natalia,_

 _I am one of the newest girls admitted into the Red Room. I am six years old. I was scared when I first arrived, but when I heard of everything you do as Black Widow, it makes me excited to become one myself. I cannot wait to meet you so we can make Mother Russia proud together. I want to be Black Widow just like you. I hope to see you soon._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Yelena_

* * *

Whatever plan the Thule Society had wasn't any of their assassin's concern. Whatever gripe they had with SHIELD wasn't any of her concern either. She was only there and only did what they asked of her because they were paying her. That had been her modis operandi ever since they Red Room dissolved years ago.

When she discovered that Natalia was involved with SHIELD's efforts, she almost offered to kill her for free. Almost. She still had bills to pay and one million would last her quite some time. Other than that, the money didn't motivate her.

Natalia was the best there was. She could accomplish feats that no other spy could dream of. She was the best, the brightest, the greatest graduate the Red Room had ever produced. Even after she defected, she still made her handlers proud. No one knew this as well as Yelena Belova. Well, no one who was still breathing.

Yelena was the very last Black Widow to graduate just before the Red Room saw its final days. She was the only student to match Natalia's grades. In every respect except experience, she was her equal. Of course, the lack of experience put her at a disadvantage. She wasn't so arrogant that she failed to realize that. It was why she hadn't confronted her right away, as she wanted to when she first saw her in the Czech Republic.

Before they could meet face to face, Yelena needed to take care of the SHIELD agents surrounding her. According to her intel, they were Dr. Barbara Morse, Alphonso MacKenzie, and Antoine Triplett. Highly trained – for Americans – enough to give her a moderate amount of problems, and certainly enough to distract her from her main target, Natalia.

It was because she didn't care about Thule Society's endgame that she wasn't alarmed when she found the agents asking questions and get answers from Thule's contacts. Regardless of whatever threat was laid at their feet, the Czechs feared the authorities much more than whoever this 'superior' was. If it wasn't so sad, it would have been funny.

Yelena tailed them, wearing a different disguise each time to minimize the risk of, not being seen, but being recognized. The inevitability of her being noticed – especially when tailing someone like Natalia – was unavoidable.

" _So, we know that Thule Society plans on stealing some kind of chemical weapons,"_ Morse noted quietly. Yelena tracked them down to a small rundown inn in some small, nondescript city that no one could remember the name of. In the guise of an elderly woman, she hobbled over to a bench across the street. In her ear was a listening device, cleverly disguised as a hearing aid.

" _Do we?"_ Mack questioned. _"The man didn't specify; he just said they were planing on stealing something that would make a ruckus. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."_

" _Whatever it is,"_ Triplett interjected before Morse could get another word out, _"it won't be good. We need to figure out where their next target is."_

Yelena wasn't privy to that information. That didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were desperate enough to follow any lead, no matter where it ended.

A plan formulated in her mind. She would drop fake intel, small little breadcrumbs that would lead the members of Natalia's little team right where Yelena wanted them. From there, she would pick them off one by one until the game board only had two pieces left – herself and Natalia. Granted, that wasn't going to be easy. SHIELD agents – while not as savvy and alert as Black Widows – were notoriously difficult to goad into a trap. Well, the more experienced of them weren't, at least.

Unfortunately, the people with Natalia seemed to be experienced enough to avoid taking unnecessary risks by themselves. This was going to take a little more planning and more reconnaissance.

The agents moved the discussion to their next targets, who they planned on interrogating for answers next. She noticed that throughout the conversation, Natalia remained silent. The Americans were dominating in their discourse, true, but not enough for her to not get a single word in edge wise. _Где ты, Наталья?_

 _{Where are you, Natalia?}_

She pretended to be adjusting her glasses in preparation to read the book in her hand, but in reality, she was pressing a discreet button on the side of the frames. This switched the lenses from transparent to x-ray so she could see through the walls of the modest inn. She found three people inside, and only three. Judging from the size and figure of the lone woman, it was Morse. Natalia was missing.

 _Где ты, американка?_

 _{Where are you, American?}_

She was nowhere to be found. The most dangerous individual on her hit list was gone without a trace, and Yelena had no clue where she might have gone. She cursed silently and slowly lurched off the bench, even making herself lose her balance to keep up appearances.

Suddenly, a pair of small, but strong hands grasped her left arm, keeping her steady. _Дерьмо!_

 _{Shit!}_

"Mám vás, madam. Neboj," came a woman's voice just out of her peripheral vision.

 _{I have you ma'am. Don't worry.}_

She turned to looked, a gesture akin to startled old woman desperate to see the face of her savior. It was her. Natalia was standing right beside her, both hands gripped around her padded bicep. Surely, there was little chance that she recognized her, or even suspected that she wasn't what she appeared to be, but Yelena didn't want to take any undue risks. Not at this early juncture. "Děkuji vám, mladá žena," she spoke, voice convincingly shaky, but tinged with an unmistakable graciousness.

 _{Thank you, young woman.}_

She straightened – but still clearly hunched over – and hobbled away with the aid of a crudely made cane. Once she was around the corner, she let out the breath she had been holding in since contact was made. Her heart wouldn't stop thumping in her chest. Natalia was right there! It would have been no trouble at all to put a bullet in her skull, then escape before the agents in the inn across the street could even comprehend what happened.

No. No, no, no. That was no good. She needed to plan this out. Natasha would never succumb to such a tactic. This plan needed to be perfect to kill the perfect target.

Yelena sighed and reached into her coat pocket. Only then – when she was fishing around for something else – did she feel the unmistakable shape of a tracking device; undoubtedly planted on her when Natalia was helping her to her feet.

She huffed and deftly deposited it when she passed an elderly man who was walking in the same direction as her. She wasn't sure how Natalia figured out who she was, but it was enough to compel her to be more careful.

She had to be perfect, because Natalia was the perfect target. The ultimate prize for the young assassin.


	7. Американская

**Американская**

Months passed one by one without a move being made. Yelena opted to take her time. Perfection was required when dealing with a mark the caliber of Natalia Romanova. There was no margin for error, no room for mistakes. One slip-up, and her entire operation would crash into a fiery heap of failure. It was with these undeniable facts in mind that she kept ignoring Thule Society's urges for an update on her progress. At best, she told them she was still in the planning phase.

Their insistence on moving up her time table to their liking had long worn thin on her nerves. It was as if they failed completely to understand the delicate and intricate planning process an operation like this required. She had little time to lose focus on unnecessary things like whatever it was that they were planning.

Or, that was what she thought. It wasn't until about two months ago that she realized that she could use Thule to her advantage. She dropped a piece of information to a person that she knew the SHIELD agents would come across. She knew that this person would let that piece of information slip in exchange for a lighter prison sentence – or, perhaps, to avoid the torture methods of the Black Widow. Either way, Yelena got what she wanted – SHIELD agents on the beginning stages of a wild goose chase.

It wasn't to lead them off her trail. No, rather, it was to guide them exactly where she wanted them to go. Fruitless lead after fruitless lead would do nothing but frustrate them. And while that wouldn't make them sloppy and prone to make risks, it _was_ exactly something a lesser assassin would take advantage of. Yelena knew that, and she knew that Natalia knew that. Giving them exactly what they needed to go at the appropriate increments would lead Natalia directly into the center of her web, where there would be no escape.

A perfect plan for a perfect mark. Nothing less was acceptable.

* * *

Soon, it became time to set her plan into motion. The first order of business, obviously, was to pick off the SHIELD lackeys one by one until this was a one-on-one affair.

First on the chopping block was Mackenzie. He was a good deal larger and stronger than Yelena, so a physical confrontation was out of the question. He was also much warier and more perceptive than his size would suggest. She would need to be careful if she was to catch him off-guard.

She followed Natalia's team to France, where another one of the clues she allowed to them to obtain led them. From there, she waited and watched. She observed everything, but most importantly, took note of all the times they were alone at any given point during the day. Those times were few and far between, to her irritation.

 _Perhaps I don't need to get him alone,_ she thought to herself during the fourth consecutive day she observed Natalia's team enjoying a discreet lunch at a particular restaurant. She noted that Mackenzie always had water with his lunch – which was, of all ridiculous things, a cheeseburger with fries. Water with ice.

Her lips curled into a smile as a plan formed in her mind.

It had been several months since they heard a peep from the other Black Widow. That alone had Natasha feeling uneasy; but add in the fact that the other agents were starting to get comfortable had her on edge. It wasn't that they weren't taking the mission or the threat of the Black Widow seriously, it was that they assumed that she would be able to handle it if it came to that.

While Natasha was more than certain that she could handle it, there was no guarantee that _they_ would make it through the battle unscathed. Or at all.

She wanted to impress that on them, but it seemed that this was going to be one of those deals that was learned the hard way.

They were currently in the same restaurant that they had been eating lunch at every day for the last four days. SHIELD agents were creatures of habit. Natasha knew well that the other Black Widow was there, watching and observing their every move. With that in mind, they sat in the far corner of the room. Natasha was sitting with her back to the corner, where she would be able to observe everyone who was walking in and walking out, and even could see into the kitchen whenever a waiter slipped inside.

Nothing was out of the ordinary thus far, and that raised her hackles far more than any kind of chaos would. It was like being in a room while knowing there was a big spider lurking somewhere. Paranoia was far more likely to set in if one _didn't_ know where it was, rather than being able to see exactly where it was laying in wait.

As she scanned the room, the other agents spoke quietly among themselves. Nothing in particular, certainly nothing about the mission, but just small talk to convincingly appear to be nothing more than a group of tourists enjoying a lunch together at their new favorite French restaurant.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mack dipping what looked like a litmus test strip into the pitcher of water they had been given by the waiter, just like he had been doing every day they went to the restaurant. Mack was just a paranoid as she was, it seemed; good.

"All clear," he announced.

She knew that strip was the test for any kind of poison: arsenic, cyanide, etc. She knew that the Black Widow was going to make her move, and poisoning their water was a good way of doing it. It seemed Mack realized that, as well.

"Food's good to go," Bobbi remarked. With that confirmation, they started eating. Not even a full minute into their lunch, something happened.

One by one, people around the restaurant convulsed and fell from their seats to the floor. Foam leaking out of their mouths, making them appear as rabid animals. "What the hell?"

Natasha's critical eyes scanned the people. She noticed that one in particular had taken a sip from his glass before convulsing. A glass, she noticed, that had previously been filled with ice that had long since melted. The water was clean, as was the food, yet... "The ice!" She slapped Mack's glass out of his hand. "The ice has been laced with cyanide."

"Holy shit."

Screams of terror and panic rippled through the previously jovial restaurant. Natasha had seen this scene unfold hundreds of times, to the point that she was numb to the entire affair. Her eyes narrowed. If she were behind this, she would be somewhere nearby to make sure her mark was dead. With that in mind, she jumped out of her seat and scampered outside. As soon as she hit the door, a Caucasian woman with short blonde hair – who had been sitting in the outdoor patio of a restaurant across the street – jumped out of her seat and started running.

"There you are." Natasha gave chase, nimbly avoiding incoming cars while not taking her eyes of her prey.

"Romanoff!" she heard Triplett call. She ignored him. This was her best chance to catch a glimpse of her would-be assassin and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.

The blonde woman darted into an alleyway. Natasha was right on her heels. When she saw her agilely hop on top of a dumpster in one leap, then leap another ten feet to reach the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder that led up the top of the building, she knew that this was the woman she was looking for. This was the Black Widow.

Natasha mimicked the feats of athleticism and climbed up the ladder as fast as she could. When she reached the top of the roof, she found her waiting.

Natasha felt her breathing slow to a crawl; this woman... no, this girl was just like her. Her stance, the way she carried herself, her meticulous planning, her patience; all hallmarks of the Red Room. The girl couldn't have been older than 21. Natasha had been a Black Widow for so many decades that she didn't even realize that so many young girls had still followed in her footsteps even after she left. She had been considered the greatest by her handlers, but that didn't mean they would stop trying to emulate her success after she defected to SHIELD.

The two women stared each other down, neither moving a single muscle too quickly.

"I'll admit," the blonde finally spoke in perfect English with no hint of an accent, "I wasn't expecting to meet you so soon face-to-face."

"No Russian?" Natasha pondered.

"I know you Americans have issues understanding any language expect English."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That wasn't the first time one of her countrymen made such a comment. "How original. So, couldn't help but notice you've been stalking me."

"Da. There is a hefty price on your head, and I plan on collecting."

"Awful cocky to be telling me you're gunning for me. I may have to shoot you dead right here and now."

"Hmph. And miss out on a prime opportunity to find out what Thule Society is planning?"

While that was extremely pertinent to the entire reason she was even called in, she felt that taking down the woman in front of her was more important. The others could handle Thule on their own; this girl was hers and hers alone. "I now know where my priorities lie."

A ghost of a smile appeared on the girl's lips. "I'm flattered, Американская*. However, I think you'll find me more than your match."

 _( **A/N: *** American)_

Natasha didn't respond, to either the boastful challenge to her skills or to the insult. She didn't take her eyes off her, not even for a second. One second would be all she would need to put a bullet in her skull and run off to Thule to collect her money. One second was not what she was going to give her.

Something rattled behind her.

The girl's eyes widened as she whipped out a handgun.

On reflex, Natasha rolled to her right to hide behind an airduct, the only available cover on the roof. A shot was fired, but landed short. A cloud of black smoke erupted from the ordinance, blinding Natasha and obscuring the girl's escape. "Shit!" There was nothing she could do. If she ran blindly through the smokescreen, then she'd leave herself wide open in case the girl _didn't_ leave. A risk she couldn't and wouldn't take.

There would be plenty of opportunities to bring her in, that was for sure.

"Romanoff?" Mack was the first to kneel beside her under the cover, followed by Triplett and Morse. "What's the play?"

"It's over. I got a good look at the assassin. Short blonde hair, blue eyes, Russian, no older than 25, but that's... suspect." The smoke cleared quickly, revealing that the girl was indeed in the wind. Natasha sighed and stood. "She confirmed she was hired by Thule Society, so she's the one who killed Kukal months ago."

"Did you get a name?" Triplett asked. "Maybe she's got a SHIELD record."

"No. I didn't ask. I didn't recognize her, and I know all the Red Room graduates that came after me. She's recent, so she's been covering her tracks well enough to fly under Coulson's radar."

They had no name, hardly any leads to go on that would lead them to the girl, and nowhere that was safe for them to hide from her. They did, however, have a face. Natasha would never forget the girl's face; she could no longer hide from her. If they crossed paths again, she would end this game, and end her. "Come on, let's go."


	8. Deception is the Deadliest Fly in the We

_**A/N:** Death ahead!_

 _ **Deception is the Deadliest Fly in the Web**_

It had been hours, and yet Yelena was _still_ buzzing. She was trembling, to the point that she could hardly hold a glass of water without the water inside sloshing out everywhere. Natalia was _right there!_ She was a mere few meters in front of her, and yet she did nothing. Nothing but exchange petty insults and posture like a child. Her fist balled tightly to stop the trembling, but it was no good.

The shivering wasn't out of fear. Oh no. It was excitement. Long had she dreamed of this moment, the moment when she would be face to face with the legendary Natalia Romanova herself. She stood toe-to-toe with the greatest Black Widow the Red Room had ever produced, and didn't blink. Yes, that was a good sign. A very good sign.

Thule had eyes and ears everywhere, so it came as little surprise when they contacted her when she returned to her motel room shortly after that fateful confrontation. They were, to the surprise of no one, not pleased when she informed them that she fled instead of simply killing Natalia right there.

These fools didn't understand. They didn't understand what was at stake. She couldn't just _kill_ Natalia. No, no. She had to corner her, pluck away her allies one by one until it was only the two of them. She had to burn her resources, burn her bridges by which she could escape, destroy any hope she had of escaping her web alive. Then, and only then, would Yelena kill her.

Those savages didn't understand the nature of this game. They didn't understand that to kill the greatest spy since Nick Fury, she had to close off all means of escape, all means of aid, and all means of fighting back. They just wanted results, but didn't want to acknowledge that those desired results took work and dedication that none of them were capable of.

Feh! That was the downside to working with Americans. They paid well, but their patience left much to be desired.

She sat on her bed and opened a folder full of files and notes on the operation her own was running parallel to. Thule wanted chemical weaponry to aid them in their bid for world domination. As generic and cliché a motive as that was, it provided her with ample opportunity to severe Natalia's ties to her allies.

She picked up a burner phone and started making phone calls. It was time to coordinate their efforts.

* * *

After her phone conversations concluded, she picked up a notepad and started writing out her plan by hand. She did it this way as it would force her to think critically about every step as she was putting it down on paper. Not only that, but the act of physically writing – as opposed to typing out on a keyboard – settled the nerves that were building up inside her. She was so close to her fated confrontation with Natalia that she could see it all unfolding in front of her as if it was happening right that exact moment.

All she had to do was a little bit of prep work and her fantasy would become a reality. With the desired outcome, she hoped.

At 1900 hours, three Thule agents were going to be loading a batch of dangerous chemicals into the back of a truck at a warehouse two blocks from the downtown area of Moscow. She advised them to bump it up to 1500 hours, since the SHIELD agents would arrive early to scope the area out. Giving the Thule four hours to work with would give Yelena plenty of time to spin her web.

For this to actually work, she needed bait, so she only told one of the three men her plan. Success required sacrifice, so the other two men were going to be her sacrificial lambs. If they lived and went to prison, fine. If they died, so be it. As long as one of the SHIELD agents either died or was incapacitated, it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Her plans set and the pertinent people aware of them, she went to bed. She had a long couple of days ahead of her.

The first thing Yelena did was acquire a set of explosive devices to place around the warehouse. They were small, yet powerful, and cleverly disguised as light switches. It was her first mind to swap out _all_ the light switches in the warehouse, yet she quickly realized that only one needed to be. This was a long game, and thus only one SHIELD agent needed to fall. Once that happened, she would consider this phase of her mission a success and move on to planning out the next phase.

She flew to Moscow that night and met with the lone man aware of her plan an hour after she landed. He was hesitant, but after some careful convincing, she reassured him that she knew fully what she was doing. With that settled, she chose the room with the actual payload to place her explosive. She was betting on them being slightly careless once they reached their goal. Not that anyone would suspect something so innocent to in reality be so deadly.

Her deadly trap in place, all they had left to do was wait for the fireworks.

* * *

"Intel said at 1800 hours," Mack confirmed. He and Bobbi went to investigate a lead into the Thule's pending theft of a dangerous chemical compound from a warehouse in Moscow, Russia. Natasha was adamant that they let it go, but they couldn't. Even if there was a small chance that it was legitimate, they needed to respond quickly and stop Thule Society from getting their hands on it. Word on the grape vine was that they wanted to make their own nuclear warheads. For what purpose, they didn't know; but regardless, they needed to be stopped before countless of innocent people were killed.

Natasha continued to insist, so they relented and held off long enough for a SHIELD task force to accompany them. Even if it was a trap, it would be ten on one; not even a Black Widow could survive those odds.

With that settled, they moved in.

"I got two bogeys," he continued. "They look Russian, so they might be Thule. Won't know 'til we move in." He gestured to the task force leader, who nodded and radioed in for his team to secure all exit points and move in.

The two Thule agents were caught offguard and quickly overwhelmed. One was killed in the firefight between the two sides, while the other surrendered. As he was taken away in handcuffs, Bobbi cautiously inspected the truck. As they suspected, it was filled with barrels full of chemicals. "Sarin. Nerve gas," she called out. "These guys are preparing to do some serious damage. There's gotta be about twenty barrels in here."

"Chief says there's about a dozen more in the warehouse," Mack said. "Let's secure it and radio in for hazmat cleanup."

She nodded and followed him and three other agents inside.

"It's dark in here," Mack commented. Once each area was confirmed to be secure, he flipped on a light switch.

It was a large industrial warehouse, but was mostly empty. The only items inside were a table with a clipboard on top of it. The clipboard had several order forms attached to it, written in, strangely, English. Forty barrels of Sarin, paid for in cash by the Thule Society under the name "Brett Dalton".

"I think we're looking for Thule in the wrong country," Mack commented.

Bobbi nodded. "Yeah. I'll get in touch with Coulson and let him know. If we're looking for an American..." She trailed off when she noticed Mack's attention drift away from here and to the room up ahead. "What?"

"I think I found the rest of our payload."

An task force agent crept toward the room and shined a light inside. He found twelve more barrels of the highly volatile nerve agent, and nothing else. "Clear!"

Mack nodded and flipped the light switch.

* * *

Yelena smiled when the entire warehouse went up in flames. Those barrels were filled with simple gasoline, not the nerve agent Sarin. "Two down. One to go."


End file.
